


Before You Go

by Emby_M



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Around 1894, F/M, Morning Sex, Pre-Jack, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: She's being courted, she thinks, as silly as it seems. The very idea makes her laugh. A girl like her, being courted by a boy like that.And yet...And yet, she's been enjoying it. John was so eager to please -- John really looks at her like flowers bloom when she laughs, like she put the moon in the sky. And she finds that she looks at him the same, constantly breathless around him.-Abigail and John share some time before he leaves for a job.





	Before You Go

Everything is quiet.

It's before dawn, and Abigail is tucked in John's arms, and she's surprised that she feels - safe.

John is lean and broad in a way she likes. His arms fit neatly around her waist, the hollow of his chin-neck-shoulder perfectly sized for her. His breath comes quiet and almost musical in her ear.

She dozes. On the edge of her awareness, the camp is coming alive. There was some job that required a pre-dawn departure. Pearson will be up making coffee, Hosea will be giving morning calls, and Arthur will be waking everyone up with his gentle touch. 

She remembers John has to go only when the warmth of him leaves her side. She's too drowsy to really notice, or make any comment.

He sleeps in her tent, with her. That was new. That was strange. He didn't pay her anymore, at least, not in money. He'd been giving her a lot of gifts. Flowers and little trinkets and slips of ribbon, and once, a skein of the most beautiful forest-green yarn, some wonderful blend of wool and silk. 

She's being courted, she thinks, as silly as it seems. The very idea makes her laugh. A girl like her, being courted by a boy like that.

And yet...

And yet, she's been enjoying it. John was so eager to please -- John really looks at her like flowers bloom when she laughs, like she put the moon in the sky. And she finds that she looks at him the same, constantly breathless around him. She finds him handsome, charming, skilled. Even when things are rough and she gets catty, she never means it. 

Blearily, she opens her eyes. 

John is sitting there, hunched over her meager wash bowl. 

Even the curve of his back is precious to her. Even the way he pushes back the hair from his face, the way his lean hands scrub at his bristley cheeks.

"Come back to bed," she mumbles.

He looks at her like she's the rising sun, painting the sky pink just for him. 

"I gotta go soon," he says, but slips back in beside her anyway. He's fully dressed, minus his boots and coat, but she's nude as the day she was born. Feels strange, but precious, too.

She wonders, not for the first time, if this is domesticity. She wants that. After so long, such a hard road - tenderness like this was sweeter. 

His lean hand comes to rest on her waist.

"Okay," she murmurs, "Stay now."

She nuzzles into his neck, breathing in the lingering scent of campfire, of his sun-baked hair, of rosin. 

This job will take at least a week. 

To her, now, it feels like an eternity.

She snakes a leg over his, tugging him closer. The little hitch in his breath is so cute. He's still treating this like it's a novelty, a benediction, even though it had been most nights he came to her. There was something so sweet about that, about someone who was eager and was _sharing_  with her, rather than expecting and demanding.

"One more time before you go," she says. 

"I'm dressed-" he says, but it turns into an incredulous laugh halfway through, when her fingers find the first button on his fly.

"Don't make me beg," she murmurs. Just saying the words sends a flush of heat along her cheeks and down to her stomach. 

"I won't," he swallows, rough voice turning husky, "Although maybe I will another time?" 

His hands join hers, undoing the fly of his trousers, then the line of buttons up his union suit. 

"Mm, maybe," she sighs, when he tugs her closer. The head of his cock bumps up against her. It feels more lewd than usual, this clandestine sort of thing. 

"Are you gonna miss me?" he asks, like a fool, his roughshod voice warm in her ear.

"Of course I am," she moans, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. 

He presses the head of him against her, pushing into her with a little gasp. 

It is one thing to have sex with someone, but it's another to let this sort of thing happen -- let tenderness spring up natural. 

This was intimacy on a new scale -- her clinging hands, the way he buries his mouth against her shoulder and kisses, the loose way he thrusts up into her. The noises she stifles but doesn't silence, those desperate, embarrassing whines, so high and needy. His laughter at the noises, but the groan he bites about "don't stop" when she clamps a hand over her own mouth, knowing that the rest of the world is inches away.

She loves the friction of her bare skin against his well-worn clothes -- the cold metal buttons that press into the seam of her thigh, the worn-soft linen of his shirt grazing her nipples. She'll have to ask him to do it again, or she'll do it to him, drive him mad with the same sort of rub. 

Better is him inside her, close as can be. Warm and consistent and with him pressing kisses to her jaw, as they cling to each other. 

That friction -- she tugs him closer by his hips, grinding down against him hard. This wasn't anything drawn out -- she doesn't need to think of anything else, just focus in on how hot her skin is getting, how that scent of rosin overpowers everything else, how he presses in and out of her, how the fabric of his fly's gotten caught around him and how she's grinding against it and -

And her hips stutter, and she whines "John," until she's coming hard and fast against him, the kind of orgasm that makes you dumb, and he's giggling until his pace goes uneven, and then she feels him come too. 

She breathes with him, dimly aware of how strange it felt, him still inside her. Strangely comfortable. He's come inside her, but she's good about cleaning up. 

"John!" Dutch's voice rings from outside. 

John twitches, pulls out suddenly. "Shit," he says, frantically neatening himself, a dazed flush still on his face, "Sorry, darling, gotta run. I love yo-"

John straightens, the flush only deepening.

Abigail, just on the edge of dozing and watching John with sleepy eyes, just laughs, smiles. "I love you too. Be safe, okay?"

John grins. He grins like she handed him the moon. "I will."

He packs his bag quickly and slips out of her tent, out towards Dutch's scolding. 

Abigail drifts off. Warm and sated, comfortable - she falls asleep, curled around the remnant of John.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this -- I'm firmly, firmly in the camp that John and Abigail love each other like crazy.  
> (You can see a lot of headcanons in this one, like John properly courted Abby, this is actually the encounter that gets Abigail pregnant, etc.)  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
